Chapter 31 Naomi
The weekend ends in a haze of sunlight, laughter, and lingering touches.
The yacht glides smoothly into the marina, and as the gangplank lowers, I step off first, my legs shaky from too much champagne and too little sleep.
Jaxon is at my side, carrying my bag with an easy grin.
Nyx lingers on the other side of me, throwing out a sly comment that makes me laugh.
I glance over my shoulder, shouting something at Aisha, who’s wrestling with her ridiculous floppy hat. Courtney is on Taylor’s back, and Lisa and Cade are in a heated debate about whether pineapples belong on pizza.
They do! Argue with your momma, not me.
The whole group moves as one, teasing, talking, and basking in the afterglow of a weekend that felt like another world.
Jaxon shifts the strap of my bag higher on his shoulder, his voice teasing. “So now that I’m back from the dead, you gonna be nicer to me?”
I roll my eyes just as Nyx leans in close, his voice a low murmur, sending shivers down my spine. “I don’t know, I kinda like her little attitude.”
I’m about to retort when I catch sight of Christian, standing a few feet away.
He leans statue-still against his Maserati like he’s been waiting for hours.
His eyes find mine immediately and my laughter dies in my throat.
My heart begins the race, galloping a million miles an hour, and my palms become a sweaty mess as I nibble on my lower lip.
He rushes towards us as if he’s in a hurry to get me out of here, eyeing Nyx and Jaxon as if they kidnapped me. His jaw set, shoulders tense, but the cool, polished expression on his face doesn’t waver.
“Naomi,” his voice is calm but heavy with unspoken frustration.
Before I can respond, Christian reaches out, grabbing the strap of my bag off Jaxon’s shoulder with more force than necessary.
Jaxon stiffens, his eyes narrowing. “Is there a problem?” Jaxon asks, his voice edged with challenge.
Christian doesn’t even look at him, his focus locked on me. “I’ll take it from here,” he says tightly.
Nyx crosses his arms, his stance casual but no less menacing. “The lady seemed fine with the help she already had.”
“Enough.” I place a hand on Nyx’s chest before this escalates into something stupid. “I’m going to go with him.”
Jaxon doesn’t look pleased, and Nyx is practically vibrating with restrained energy, but I give them both a reassuring look. “I have to go,” I say softly. “I’ll let you know when I’m home.”
Christian’s hand finds the small of my back as he steers me toward his car. I glance back at Nyx and Jaxon once more before sliding into the passenger seat, watching Nyx storm off while Jaxon watches us, seething.
The silence in the car is thick as Christian pulls away from the dock, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
“What the hell was that?” he finally asks, simmering with anger.
“What was what?” I say, folding my arms across my chest, already defensive.
He scoffs, shaking his head. “You know exactly what. You, giggling like a teenager, draped in-between them. What am I supposed to think, Naomi?”
“I was having fun with my friends,” I snap back. “Or is that not allowed now?”
His jaw flexes as he glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “Friends? Is that what they are?”
“Yes.” My voice rises with the lie, but I force myself to exhale slowly, gripping the edge of my seat. “God, Christian, not everything is some grand betrayal.”
Another lie.
“Maybe not. But this weekend wasn’t easy.” He lets out a breath, his hand relaxing on the wheel. “You didn’t even call to check on me.”
“I lost my phone.”
The truth.
“And you couldn’t have borrowed one from any of the idiots you were with all weekend?
” He snaps, the words cutting fast—like they’d been waiting on the tip of his tongue.
I turn my head, watching the city blur past the window.
His tone softens as he says something I don’t bother listening to, so I don’t reply, the tension hanging between us.
At a red light, he leans closer, his hand brushing my thigh.
“Naomi,” he murmurs, and when I glance over, his eyes are softer, pleading.
I know what’s coming before he does it. He tilts toward me, aiming for a kiss, but I subtly turn my head, and his lips catch the corner of my mouth instead.
He sighs, leaning back in his seat. He doesn’t speak for a long moment, but then he reaches into the backseat, pulling out a sleek black bag while keeping his eyes on the road.
“Here,” he says, placing it in my lap.
I look at him, eyebrows raised. “What’s this?”
“I just wanted to get you something nice,” he says simply.
We pull up to the front of my house, rolling through the front gates, as tension still lingers like smoke in the air.
Christian puts the car in park and turns to me, “Go inside and put it on,” he says, nodding toward the black bag still sitting unopened on my lap, then leans back and reaches into the backseat once more, pulling out a smaller, cream-colored shopping bag with white lettering.
Louboutin.
“And these,” he says, setting the bag next to me with a smirk. “Because you’ll need the perfect shoes to go with it.”
I glance between the two bags, then back at him, suspicion creeping into my tone. “What’s this for? Some kind of peace offering?”
His lips curve into a slow, deliberate smile, but there’s a hint of something possessive in his gaze. “It’s a reminder, Naomi. That you’re mine. Now, go.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not your Barbie doll, Christian.”
His lips curve into a smirk this time, the sharpness in his gaze intensifying. “No, I know you’re not. I would never objectify you like that.” He says, but his eyes show something almost salacious at the thought. “I’m taking you somewhere special tonight. I just wanted to get you something nice.”
The sincerity in his voice throws me off balance for a second.
I clutch the bags tighter, unsure whether to scoff or let the sentiment settle.
Instead, I just shake my head and step out of the car, biting back a retort.
His smirk follows me all the way to the door, and when I glance back, he’s still sitting there, watching, like he knows I’ll do exactly what he asked.
When I step inside, I head up to my room and set the bags down on the bed, pulling out the contents.
The first is a black lace-up asymmetrical dress—sleek, daring, the kind of fabric that clings like a second skin.
Embellishments glint along the shoulder straps and hem.
A dress made to command attention in every room it enters.
Next, I pull out the shoes—black Louboutins with silver strap embellishments that snake up my ankles like wild, elegant vines.
After a quick shower, I slip into the dress, adjusting the straps until the bodice clings just right. The shoes slide on comfortably, positively beautiful. I turn toward the full-length mirror, taking in my reflection.
I don’t know why I still have this sinking feeling in my belly. No one's talked about what really happened, or who the shooters were, it didn’t even make the news—I’ve checked…twice. And I know better than to ask my brothers or Jaxon, all I’ll get is a handful of heated lies. So, I push on.
I mean, everyone is fine, right? No one died. So, why is there still a part of me that is screaming, CAUTION?
I really don’t want to go with Christian tonight—but I have to.
So, I steady my hand against the marble counter, drawing the liquid liner in a perfect flick at the corner of each eye.
I press my lips together after coating them with the wine-colored matte that won't smudge.
My fingers work through my curls, separating and twisting until they bounce back to life.
Three deliberate spritzes at my neck and wrists—sweet cherries ripening in summer heat—the scent that makes heads turn when I walk past. I snap the black clutch shut, slide Ferragamo sunglasses into place, and take one final glance at myself in the mirror.
I have no idea where Christian is taking me, but at least I look better than I feel..
When I slide into the car beside him again, his gaze sweeps over me. His lips curve into a satisfied grin—half wolf, half worshipper. “Stunning, Butterfly. Simply stunning,” he murmurs, threading his fingers through mine.
I glance over at him, noticing the change in his appearance. A black button-down that clings to his chest, paired with tailored slacks, now explains why he was dressed so formally.
As we drive, I roll down the window, and the summer air brushes against my skin. The homes we pass grow larger, more secluded, until the car turns onto a private, paved road. A gate looms ahead, flanked by towering oaks that cast long shadows across the ground.
Christian leans forward, pressing his thumb against a scanner. His quick hiss of pain follows the faint beep.
“Babe, can you grab me a handkerchief from the glove compartment?” he asks, pulling his thumb back—a bead of blood wells at the tip.
My stomach tightens. “Are you okay?” I ask as I fumble with the glove compartment latch.
“Yeah, babe, it’s nothing,” he says, nonchalantly. “Just grab me the handkerchief.”
I find the handkerchief jammed between the car’s manual and a bottle of hand sanitizer.
“Here.” He slides the silk handkerchief from my hand, dabbing blood, jaw tight as he mutters something under his breath.
The gilded gate swings open slowly, inviting us deeper into the grounds. Ahead, a road winds into darkness, lined with towering ancient oak trees that seem to block out the moonlight.
A chill crawls up my spine, and I can’t help but joke, “Is this the part where I find out you’re a serial killer after four years?”
Christian chuckles.“You’re way too sexy to be one of my victims,” he says, bringing my hand to his lips for a soft kiss. “Relax, we’re just going to a little party.”